E STA 

A SLUMBER 
STORY 




EUGENE FIELD 




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Copighl N°_ 



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COPYRIGHT DHFOSIT. 



THE STARS: 

A SLUMBER STORY 



THE STARS: 

A SLUMBER STORY 



By 
EUGENE FIELD 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1906 



LIBRARY of Cr-.JGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

SEP 22 1906 

- Cepyneht Entry 

***>.%/. 'foL 

CLASS it KXc, No 



fx> l^*| 



Copyright, 1901, 1903, by 
NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY 



' Copyright, 1906, by 
/ 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



CONTENTS ^ 

The Child-Love of Eugene Field . . i 

The Stars ...... I 

Eugene Field, a Sketch . . . 53 



The CHILD-LOVE 
OF EUGENE FIELD 



The CHILD-LOVE of 
EUGENE FIELD 

An Appreciation 

AS the children's poet, Eugene 
Field will long live in litera- 
ture and in the public heart. What he 
accomplished in the field of human 
achievement as a journalist, as poet and 
romancer, is as naught compared to 
his undying fame as the noblest bard 
of childhood. I knew him during a 
period of fifteen years, in Denver, in 
Kansas City, and in Chicago — a period 
in which he expressed in printed words 
those marvellous songs of childhood 
which found genesis in his kindly heart 
and active mind. 

He seems to have been the one poet 
in all modern American literature to 
[ vii ] 



EUGENE FIELD: 

have discovered childhood and to un- 
fold its wondrous revelations. No man 
nor woman who has passed through 
The Struggle can read the lullabies and 
the child-songs of Eugene Field and 
not realize that he kindles afresh the 
spark of child-life, and gives it an 
eternal glow of gentleness, of tender- 
ness, and of love. 

He was a Homer to the children. 
He revelled in their pleasures. His 
tender strains in praise of childhood 
were but the outbursts of his own 
boyish heart. He himself was a boy, 
and all men and women who called 
him friend were his boy and girl friends 
and whilom playmates. He once said: 
[ viii ] 



T h e Children" s Poet 

"I like boy life. I like the buoy- 
ancy of youth and its freshness; the 
pleasures of life that come to a boy in 
the country. It is a God's pity every 
young child cannot get a taste of country 
life at some time.' , 

He always lived in the closest and 
fondest intimacy with the children, and 
was thus enabled to voice childish sen- 
timent and feeling. It is true — and in 
accordance with his own confession — 
he did not love all children. He tried 
to analyze his feelings with respect to 
them, and he loved them personally 
only in so far as he could make pets of 
them. And few there were, whether 
they came to him in silks or in cottons, 
[ ix ] 



EUGENE FIELD: 

who were not his pets. In his home 
life he called about him children of all 
ages and all conditions. He loved to 
have it so, and with them and among 
them he easily made himself a child 
again, and joined them in their games. 
He loved the things that children love. 
He once wrote : " I believe in ghosts, 
in witches, and in fairies, and I adore 
dolls.'' It is known that during his 
lifetime he bought hundreds of dolls, 
and once, when making generous pur- 
chases at a toy shop, he made excuses 
thus: "Oh, when little girls come to 
see me I can give them a dolly to take 
home." That illustrates his character 
better than the words of others. He 



"The Children' } s Poet 

was kind-hearted to a fault, and his 
sympathy was broad and deep. Enter- 
ing a strange household, it seemed only 
natural for him to move about and seek 
the children, and the youngsters went 
to his lap as quickly and as joyously as 
to a garden swing. 

He loved the poor outcast waifs of 
the street with the same tenderness be- 
stowed upon the children of his friends 
and neighbors, and it is said of him 
that on his wedding day he kept his 
bride waiting at the church, while he, 
on his knees in the mud of the street, 
settled a dispute among a quartette of 
ragamuffins over a game of marbles. 

While his songs of childhood remain 
[ *i ] 



EUGENE FIELD: 

a monument to his memory, other lines 
which fell occasionally from his facile 
pen add no small measure to the gentle 
sweetness that marked the kindly man. 
His letters to his own children are 
genuine, honest, and human. They 
breathe a soft fragrance and a beauty — 
a something greater and broader and 
deeper than the tender words of a 
father; between the lines one can feel 
the throb of a mother's heart. 

In his work as a poet of childhood, 
there is always manifest that rare and 
subtle, sympathetic power to touch the 
heart and to moisten the eye — that 
wondrous simple touch that first makes 
the reader think, and then to quiver, 
[xii ] 



The Children's Poet 

and finally to aspirate a sweet, delicious 
sigh. And there lies the secret of his 
power as a poet of childhood. His 
verses have a sympathy, a warmth, and 
a genuineness that cannot fail to open 
up the secret springs of memory and 
make us live again the joyous days of 
our happy youth. True children, as 
fresh and pure as the flowers of the 
hillside, caper and romp and coo and 
pray throughout his verse. 

Only a master hand, influenced by a 
great soul, could have written those two 
particular touches of child life, "Little 
Boy Blue" and " Wynken, Blynken, and 
Nod." The former in its gentle realism 
tells of 

[ xiii ] 



EUGENE FIELD: 

" The touch of a little hand 
And the smile of a little face ! " 

while the latter, riotous in romanticism, 
takes the children 

" Sailing off in a wooden shoe ! " 

It will be many years before our 
memories become dulled to the de- 
lights of "The Sugar- Plum Tree", 
which flourished in Shut-Eye Town, 
or to the fascinating charms of "The 
Naughty Doll", whose fond mistress 
loved to 

" Dress her up and curl her hair 
And feed her taffy candy ! " 

Our hard, indifferent, mercenary 
hearts, calloused by a false and too 
[ xiv ] 



The Children's Poet 

rapid civilization, must ache afresh at 
"Pitty-pat and Tippy- toe " as we re- 
call with flooded eyes those sweet days 
long ago, when we, too, found many a 
childish hurt to soothe and 

" Many a little bump to kiss ! " 

And in ages yet to come, a million 
mothers, some worn and tired, grown 
old before their time, will linger tear- 
fully and hug closely to their trembling 
hearts 

" A little sock of faded hue, 
A little lock of golden hair" 

and kiss the printed page containing 
"Christmas Treasures"; for next to 
God's eternal Love comes mother love 

[ xv ] 



EUGENE FIELD: 

and father love, and he who loves the 
children cannot hate his God; and he 
who writes immortal words of children 
and of love is near to that Almighty 
Throb which makes the world go 
'round. 

Good-night, Eugene, but not farewell ; 

Although Life's sun for thee hath set, 
In hearts of millions long will dwell 

Thy kindly light. We'll not forget 
The tender, gentle touch — the charm, 

The grace and pathos of thy pen ; 
Good-night, sweet soul of Sabine farm, 

Belov'd of children and of men. 

Will M. Clemens. 

New York, 1901. 

[xvi ] 



THE STARS: 

A SLUMBER STORT 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

AVERY wondrous thing happened 
the other night; I will tell you 
about it. Dady is a little boy who 
is hardly more than three years old. 
Every night when his mamma puts 
him to bed, she sits beside him and 
sings to him till he is fast asleep. The 
other night Dady's mamma had tucked 
him up nice and snug in his bed, and 
had heard him repeat his little prayer, 
when Dady said: "What will you sing 
about to-night, mamma?" 

"What would you like to have me 
sing about ?" asked mamma. 

"Sing about the bears and lions," 
said Dady. 

Mamma laughed heartily. "Why 
[ i ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

Dady," said she, "what do I know 
about bears and lions? No, I will sing 
a little hushaby about the stars. When 
I was a little girl my mamma used to 
sing it to me. Would you like to 
hear it ?" 

"Yes," said Dady. 

"Then you must shut your eyes and 
be very still," said mamma. 

So Dady closed his eyes, and was 
very quiet while his mamma sang this 
little lullaby : 

Cradle Song 

The twinkling stars, that stud the skies 
Throughout the quiet night, 

Are only precious little eyes 
Of babies fair and bright ; 

[ 2 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

For, when the babies are asleep, 

An angel comes and takes 
Their little eyes to guard and keep 

Until the morning breaks. 
So, in the sky and on the earth, 

Those little eyes divine, 
With quiet love and twinkling mirth, 

Through all the darkness shine. 
The golden and majestic moon 

Beholds these baby eyes, 
And, mother-like, she loves to croon 

Her softest lullabies, 

Her gentlest hushabies. 

The tiny flow'rs the baby knew 

Throughout the noisy day, 
Now ope their blossoms to the dew 

And, smiling, seem to say : 
" We know you, stars, serene and small, 

Up yonder in the skies — 
You are no little stars at all — 

You're only baby eyes ! " 
[ 3 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

The lambkins scamper to and fro 

And chase the night away. 
For they are full of joy to know 

The stars behold their play. 
The wind goes dancing, free and light, 

O'er tree and hilltop high. 
And murmurs all the happy night 

The sweetest lullaby, 

The gentlest hushaby. 

So let thy little eyelids close 

Like flow'rs at set of sun. 
And tranquil be thy soul's repose, 

My precious weary one ! 
The still and melancholy night 

Is envious of thine eyes, 
And longs to see their glorious light 

In yonder azure skies. 
The daisies wonder all the while 

Why all is dark above, 
And clamor for the radiant smile 

Of little orbs they love ; 
[4 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

And, lo ! an angel hovers near 

To bear thine eyes on high. 
So sleep, my babe, if thou would'st hear 

The music of the sky — 

Sweet nature's hushaby. 

Scarcely had Dady's mamma finished 
this song when the wondrous thing of 
which we spoke a few moments ago 
happened. Dady opened his eyes to see 
the lambkins playing in the meadows, 
when, lo ! at his side, where his mam- 
ma had been sitting but a moment 
before, there stood a beautiful angel, 
with the whitest wings and the sweetest 
smile Dady ever saw. Dady was not 
frightened the least bit. 

" Shut your eyes, little Dady," said 
[5] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

the Angel, " for I want to put them up 
in the sky for stars." 

" Oh, but it will hurt," said Dady. 

" No, it will not hurt," said the 
angel, and Dady believed the angel, 
because angels always tell the truth. 

Then Dady closed his eyes, and, will 
you believe it? the angel put his hands 
on Dady's eyes and took them right 
out of Dady's head, and it never hurt 
Dady at all. No, it felt rather nice 
than otherwise, for Dady's body at once 
fell into a sound sleep, while Dady's 
eyes became wider awake than ever be- 
fore, and could see very plainly the 
smallest things in the world. Out of 
the window, away over the housetops, 
[ M 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

and up into the sky flew the angel with 
Dady's eyes, and Dady was not fright- 
ened, because the angel was very kind 
and gentle. 

" Will he really put us in the sky ? " 
thought the eyes. " It certainly will 
seem very new and strange to look 
down on the world from away up there.' ' 

But before Dady's eyes knew what 
was being done with them, they were 
put fast in the blue sky, right between 
two pairs of eyes Dady thought he had 
seen before. 

" Whose eyes are you ? " asked Dady. 

" Why, we are Susie's eyes," said the 
little brown stars. 

"And whose eyes are you?" asked 
[7 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

Dady, turning to the little sparklers t*n 
the other side. 

"We are Trotty's eyes/' replied the 
little blue eyes. 

"Then I am not frightened," said 
Dady. 

" Oh, no," said the Susie eyes, " there 
is nothing to be afraid of up here in 
the soft, kindly sky. It is really very 
charming." 

" Don't you see how cool and pleas- 
ant it is ? " asked the Trotty eyes. 
" Really this is much nicer than the 
close, heated air down near the earth." 

So they talked. And there were 
thousands and thousands of other little 
eyes doing service as stars all around 
[8] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

them. There were blue eves and black 
eyes, and brown eyes and hazel eyes, 
and among others there was a pair of 
beautiful little golden eyes which Dady 
fell quite in love with. They were 
Louisa's eyes, and they were very sweet, 
for Louisa herself was a very good 
little girl. 

" What is that music we hear ? " asked 
the Louisa eyes. 

Dady listened, and surely enough he 
heard the most beautiful music sweep- 
ing along through the air beneath. 

" I wonder what it can be ?" queried 
the Trotty eyes. " We never heard 
such sweet sounds before. " 

"Oh, that is the song of the night 
[9] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

wind," said a pair of older eyes that had 
been stars many times. "Let us listen 
and hear what the song is about." 

So the eyes all kept very quiet and 
listened to the night wind as it sang 
this song: 

The Rose and the Iceberg 

I hasten from the land of snows, 

Where sunbeams dance and quiver, 
Unto the dwelling of a rose, 

Hard by a southern river. 
An iceberg loves the blooming thing, 

But she will pay no heeding 
Unto the splendid polar king, 

Nor to his piteous pleading. 

Abashed that she is hostile to 

His amorous pursuing, 
The iceberg wills that I should go 

To do his kingly wooing. 
[ io ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

He bids me lure her from her tree, 
And from her balmy places ; 

And bear her swiftly back with me 
Unto his fond embraces. 

So, swiftly o'er the mountains high, 

And through the forests gloomy, 
Unto the distant vale I fly 

To win this blossom to me. 
To-morrow evening shall I ride — 

More merrisome and faster — 
For I shall bear the blooming bride 

Back to my kingly master. 

"What is it all about ?" asked the 
Dady eyes. 

"I'm sure I don't know," said the 
Louisa eyes. 

" It is about a great, cold iceberg that 
loves a rose," explained the Trotty eyes; 
"but the rose does not love the iceberg, 

t » ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

so the night wind is going to steal 
the rose and take her to the iceberg's 
palace/' 

The Dady eyes did not seem to under- 
stand all this sentiment, and were going 
to make further inquiries, when the 
Susie eyes asked, "Can you see the big 
city away down yonder?" 

"Oh, yes," said the Trotty eyes, 
"and we can see the house where we 
live during the day." 

"And can we see our mamma?" 
asked the Dady eyes. 

"Certainly," replied the Trotty eyes. 
" Look hard, and you will see her fast 
asleep in bed. See, she is smiling." 

"I can see her," said an ugly old 
[ « ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

spook that came buzzing through the 
air; "and I know why she is smiling. 
Listen : 

There's a joyous smile on her features, while 
The moon through the lattice streams, 

And fancies roll through her somnolent soul 
And sweet are her fevered dreams — 

The dreams 
With which her slumber teems. 

There are tomes of guile in her tranquil smile 

That basks in the moon's caress — 
She dreams of a gown that's the talk of the 
town — 
that's easy enough to guess — 

Oh, yes, 
She dreams of a new silk dress ! " 

"For shame !" cried the star eyes. 
"As if a mother ever could dream of 
[ *3 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

such things! No; when a mother 
smiles in her sleep, she dreams of her 
little one." 

And for his abominable heresy, the 
ugly old spook was condemned to marry 
an owl and live in the hollow of a 
dead tree. 

"Baa — baa/' bleated a little lamb in 
the meadow. It had lost its way among 
the high grass and flowers, and was 
bleating for its mother. 

"Poor little lamb — it has lost its 
way," said the Louisa eyes. 

"Can we not help it?" said the Susie 
eyes. "Suppose we all shine as hard 
as ever we can, and then maybe it will 
see its way to its mamma." 
[ i4 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

So all the little star eyes shone with 
all their might, and, startled by the 
sudden light, the mother sheep sprang 
from her slumbers and called to her 
little one. Then the little lamb heard 
her voice and hastened to her side. It 
made the star eyes very happy to know 
they had done the little lamb such a 
kindly service. Then all the flock on 
the meadow got together, and the wise 
old mother sheep gathered around in a 
circle and watched the little lambs at 
play in the midst of the circle. It was 
a lively sight. On the meadow grew 
a daisy which the lambs loved very 
dearly because it was beautiful and 
gentle. Now, it happened that this 
[ is ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

daisy stood right in the centre of the 
circle where the lambs played that 
night. 

"Oh, come," said one little lamb, 
whose name was Kinky, "come, let us 
have some fun with the daisy. Let us 
see if we can leap over its head." 

"For mercy's sake," cried the daisy, 
"do not strike me with your feet or 
you will crush me!" 

"Have no fears," said Kinky, "for 
we love you too much to harm you." 

Then the fun began. Kinky led the 
race, and leaped over the daisy, and all 
the rest of the lambs followed in one, 
two, three fashion, and so the sport 
continued until the little lambs were 
[ 16 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

all worn out with play, and the mother 
sheep were nearly dead with laughter. 
And the daisy cried : " Now, really, you 
must rest awhile, and as for me, I must 
open my little mouths and take good, 
long drinks of cool dew, for I am very 
thirsty. " 

"Yes," said an old grandma sheep, 
"you little lambs should go to bed. 
Lie down on the green grass close to 
your mothers while I sing you to 
sleep." 

They were very obedient little lambs. 
They cuddled up to their big, warm 
mothers, and fell asleep to the song of 
the old grandma sheep, which song was 
something like this: 

[ «7] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Storv 



A Hushaby 

Ba-ba, baby sheep, 

Chill and sombre grows the night — 
Only stars from heaven's height 
Shed on us their golden light — 

Ba-ba, go to sleep — 

Go to sleep, baby sheep ! 

Ba-ba, baby sheep— 

Never mind the goblin's growl — 
Never heed the hoodoo's howl — 
Let the hippogriffin prowl — 

Ba-ba, mother'll keep 

Watch over baby sheep ! 

Ba-ba, baby sheep — 

Up above, serene and far, 

Beams a tiny golden star 

Listening to the ba-ba 
I am singing to the sheep, 
As they rock the lambs to sleep. 
[ 18 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

"We can understand that song," said 
the Dady eyes, "and we like it very 
much. On the whole, we think it is 
very pleasant up here in the sky." 

"Yes," said the Louisa eyes, "it is 
much better to be shining upon the 
world up here than to be slumbering 
in our quiet cribs at home." 

Then a pair of the older eyes ex- 
plained that if the children were good 
all day on earth, their eyes would surely 
be set in the sky for stars. Dady's 
eyes and Louisa's and Trotty's and all 
the rest at once made a solemn de- 
termination that they always would 
be good. 

About this time the star eyes saw a 
[ 19 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

number of fleecy objects sailing along 
through the sky in their direction. 

"They must be swans," said the 
Susie eyes. 

" Oh, what lovely creatures ! " shouted 
the star eyes in chorus. 

But no, they were simply clouds; 
but they sailed along like majestic birds 
of passage. 

"Where are you going ?" demanded 
the Trotty eyes. 

"Would you like to hear our song?" 
inquired the clouds. 

"Indeed, we would," answered the 
star eyes in one voice. 

"Then listen," said the clouds; "we 
cannot stay long, for we are in great 
[ 20 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

haste, as you will hear from our 
song." 

The star eyes paid close attention, 
and the clouds, as they decreased their 
speed, joined in this pretty little song: 

Song of the Clouds 

Far, far beyond yon Eastern steeps 
There is an humble little cot, 
And in that homely, lonely spot 

A mother prays and weeps. 

Be calm, dear one , the Father hears 
Thy softest plaint and faintest sigh, 
And He hath bless'd thy pray'rful cry 

And sanctified thy tears. 

And He hath sent us clouds to bear 
Thy mother's tears, in form of rain, 
Unto the distant desert plain, 

To cool the desert air. 

[ 21 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

The fainting youth will feel our breath 
Upon his bronzed and fevered face, 
And have new strength to leave that 
place — 

That arid haunt of death. 

The mother heart need not despair — 
To-morrow eve the son shall rest 
Upon that mother's joyful breast, 

For God hath heard her pray'r. 

So, gentle stars, stay not our flight — 
A mother's tears, in form of rain, 
We bear unto that distant plain 

Where faints a son to-night. 

The star eyes were much pleased 
with this song, and they would have 
asked the clouds to sing all the night, 
but that would have been very wrong. 

"No, we must not detain them, for 
they are sailing on an errand of kind- 
[ 22 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

ness and mercy," said a pair of the 
older of the star eyes. 

Then the clouds flew swiftly on 
their journey, in search of the weep- 
ing mother's wandering son, singing as 
they went, and accompanied through 
all their journey by the tenderest wishes 
of the little star eyes. 

"Speed on, speed on, O dear clouds," 
cried the star eyes, "and bear strength 
to the distant traveller son that he may 
come to the mother ere her heart break." 

As you may easily imagine, the 
night was now pretty well along. The 
moon came up in the eastern horizon, 
looking very red and fretful at first, but 
as soon as she saw the star eyes waiting 
[ 23 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

for her, she became as smiling and com- 
placent as you please. Then the Dady 
eyes saw that the moon was not, as 
many foolish children believe, a huge 
green cheese, but a huge ball of fire — 
not the kind of fire that burns, but a 
soft and luminous and perfectly harm- 
less fire into which a child might thrust 
his hand without being singed. 

"Aha," quoth the moon, cheerily, 
"you are all here, my pretty friends!" 

"Welcome, dear moon," cried the 
star eyes; "but why are you so late 
to-night?" 

" Oh, but I have had a dreadful time," 
said the moon. "I have been all the 
way to China since I left you last night, 
[ 24 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

and I have seen the most terrible sight 
— ough ! " 

And the moon shivered so mightily 
that she came very near shaking all the 
little star eyes out of their places. 

"What was this terrible sight ?" 
asked the star eyes, opening themselves 
to their widest capacity in an excite- 
ment of expectancy. 

"It was the 'Fate of the Princess 
Ming/ as I call it," replied the moon, 
"for I have arranged the story in a 
song, which I will sing you if you wish." 

"Oh, do sing it!" cried the star 
eyes in unison, " for we are very anxious 
to hear it." 

Then the moon hemmed and hawed 
[ 25 ] 



THE STARS : A Slumber Story 

and cleared her throat and sang in very 
dulcet tones this sad, sad ballad: 

The Princess Ming 

There was a prince by the name of Tsing 

Who lived in the Chinese town of Lung 
And fell in love with the Princess Ming 
Who lived in the neighboring town of 
Jung; 

'Twas a terrible thing 
For Tsing and Ming, 
As you'll allow, when you've heard me sing. 

Now it happened so that the town of Lung, 
Where lived the prince who longed to woo, 
Went out to war with the town of Jung 
With junks and swords and matchlocks, 
too — 

'Twas a terrible thing 
For Tsing and Ming, 
As you'll allow, when you've heard me sing. 

[ 26 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

Miss Ming's papa was eating rice 

On yestermorn at half-past eight, 
And had carved a pie composed of mice, 
When the soldiers knocked at his palace 
gate; 

They were led by Tsing, 
And they called for Ming, 
Which all will allow was a terrible thing ! 

Miss Ming's papa girt on his sword — 

" For this," quoth he, " I'll have his gore ! " 
In vain the Princess Ming implored — 
In vained she swooned on the palace floor — 
The Princess Ming 
Who was wooed of Tsing 
Could not prevail with the gruff old King ! 

The old King opened the palace gate 
And in marched Tsing with his soldiers 
grim, 
And the King smote Tsing on his princely 
pate — 
Stating this stern rebuke to him : 

[27 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

" It's a fatal thing 
For you, Mr. Tsing, 
To come a-courting the Princess Ming ! " 

The prince most keenly felt this slight, 
But still more keenly the cut on his 
head; 
So, suddenly turning cold and white, 
He fell to the earth and lay there dead. 
Which act of the King 
To the handsome Tsing 
Was a brutal shock to the Princess Ming. 

No sooner did the young prince die 

Than Princess Ming from the palace 
flew, 
And jumped straight into the River Ji, 
With the dreadful purpose of dying, 
too! 

'Twas a natural thing 
For the Princess Ming 
To do for love of the handsome Tsing ! 

[ 28] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



And when she leaped in the River Ji, 

And gasped and choked till her face was blue, 
A crocodile fish came paddling by 
And greedily bit Miss Ming in two — 
The horrid old thing 
Devoured Miss Ming, 
Who had hoped to die for the love of Tsing. 

When the King observed her life adjourned, 
By the crocodile's biting the girl in twain, 
Up to the ether his toes he turned, 

With a ghastly rent in his jugular vein ; 
So the poor old King, 
And Tsing, and Ming 
Were dead and gone — what a terrible thing ! 

And as for the crocodile fish that had 

Devoured Miss Ming in this off-hand way, 
He caught the dyspepsy so dreadful bad 
That he, too, died that very day ! 
So, now, with the King, 
And Tsing, and Ming, 
And the crocodile dead, what more can I sing ? 

[^9] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

"What a dreadful song ! " said the 
Dady eyes. "I never heard anything 
. half so terrible!" 

"Poor princess," sighed the Trotty 
eyes, "how she must have loved the 
prince! " 

" I became so much interested in the 
affair," explained the moon, "that I 
overstayed my time in China by half 
an hour and that is why I am tardy 
to-night." 

"Can we go to China some time?" 
asked the Dady eyes. "We want to 
see the crocodile bite a princess in two ! " 

At this dreadful suggestion the other 
star eyes shuddered and the moon 
frowned severely. 

[30] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

"How can you want to see such a 
dreadful sight ?" asked the moon, re- 
proachfully. "No, you cannot go to 
China — at least not while you are Baby 
eyes. For what would the sky do with- 
out you all the dark night, and how 
dreary the earth would be without 
your kindly smiles and cheering rays?" 

The Dady eyes concluded that the 
moon was right, although they were 
unwilling to concede that it would not 
be an interesting experience to see a 
crocodile bite a beautiful princess in two. 

"Now, little star eyes," said the 
moon, "if you all will be very quiet 
I will call to the elves to come out and 
dance upon the meadow." 

[31 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

"Oh, what are elves ?" eagerly in- 
quired the Dady eyes. 

"They are the tiniest little creatures 
in the world," said the moon; "they 
are little men and women who live in 
the flowers and under the bark of 
the trees." 

"Pray do call out the elves!" shouted 
the star eyes. 

The moon accordingly pitched her 
voice in a tuneful key and sang this 
invocation : 

An Elfin Summons 

From the flow'rs and from the trees 
Come, O tiny midnight elves, 

And, to music of the breeze, 
Merrily disport yourselves. 

[ 32] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



Harnessing the glow-worm's wing, 

Drive the glow-worm for your steed, 
Or with crickets dance and sing 

On the velvet, perfumed mead. 
Forth from pretty blue-bells creep 

To coquette with starlight gleam — 
See, the lambkins are asleep 

And the daisies sleeping dream. 
Hasten to engage yourselves 
In your frolics, midnight elves ! 

See, a toad with jewelled eyes 

Comes and croaks his homely song 
To the spider as she plies 

Her deft spinning all night long ; 
See the bat with rustling wings 

Darting nervously above — 
Hear the cricket as she sings 

To her little violet love. 
All the goblins are asleep 

And no flimflam hovers near, 

[33] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

So from out the posies creep 

With your Elfin ladies dear ; 
Merrily disport yourselves, 
Frisky little midnight elves ! 

Hardly had the moon finished this 
curious song when the meadow was 
peopled with myriads of the tiniest 
little ladies and gentlemen the star eyes 
ever had seen. Each of these people 
was no larger than the smallest cambric 
needle, yet all were so symmetrically 
proportioned that they were to all in- 
tents human beings. 

" If you were not star eyes you would 
not see them at all," explained the 
moon. 

Most of the elves came from the 
[ 34 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

blossoms of flowers, some crept from 
out the tufts of grass, while others 
emerged from the loose bark of the 
trees, and others still leaped down from 
the chinks and crevices of the stone 
wall that surrounded the meadow. 
They gamboled gleefully over the wet 
and shining grass, and played every 
variety of prank known to merry little 
people. The attentive star eyes could 
see that these curious people were ex- 
ceedingly pretty to look upon, that 
their raiment was of the most elegant 
material, and that they were the very 
personification of nimbleness and grace. 
Their king appeared to be one whom 
they called Piccolo. He was a beauti- 
[ 35 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

ful little creature, with the merriest and 
tiniest blue eyes, the silkiest golden 
hair, and the most musical voice imagi- 
nable. He wore a robe woven by six 
silver spiders; this robe was lined with 
down from the skin of a maiden peach, 
and it was fastened with buttons of pearl 
no larger than gnats' eyes. Piccolo's 
hat was a violet leaf, and his shoes were 
manufactured of the pelt of a baby dor- 
mouse. He was a very dainty little 
object. 

" Let us awaken the lambkins/' cried 
Piccolo, as he nimbly climbed a daisy 
stalk and dexterously swung himself 
upon the back of the little lamb that 
was named Kinky. 

[36] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

His blithesome little subjects fol- 
lowed his example. 

"Ba-a-a," moaned Kinky, in his 
sleep, for he dreamed he was beset by 
ugly gnomes, who were shearing his 
fleece. 

"Wake up, little Kinky!" shouted 
Piccolo in Kinky's ear. 

Kinky leaped to his feet, vastly be- 
wildered. 

" Ba-a-a ! " cried Kinky. "What is 
all this hubbub ?" 

"It is I, Piccolo," said Piccolo, in 
assuring tones. "We have come to 
play with you by moonlight." 

" Yes, wake up, Kinky," chimed in 
the daisy, "and let me see how fast 
r 37] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

you can run with all those little elves 
on your back." 

Kinky took very kindly to the idea. 
So he got his companions together, and 
proposed that they have a race to the 
brook at the lower end of the meadow 
and back again. Each lambkin was to 
carry three hundred elves on his back, 
and the lamb that ran first to the 
brook and first home again was to 
have a prize of three white clover 
blossoms. 

Well, it was great sport. Piccolo, 
his court, and more than two hundred 
of his faithful subjects rode Kinky, and 
the other lambs carried their burdens 
quite as willingly. The daisy was the 

[38] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

time-keeper, and when she said the 
word, away frisked the lambkins amid 
the laughter of the elves, who clung 
very tight to the fleece of their flying 
steeds. Gracious! how fast those lamb- 
kins did run — it almost took the breath 
away from the elves. Over moss and 
violet and grass they sped, over clover 
bloom and trailing vine and ripening 
berry. "Ba-a-a," cried the lambkins 
in chorus, while the elves screamed ex- 
citedly, and held on tighter than ever. 
The brook heard them coming. 

"Mercy on us! — what can be the 

matter ?" wondered the brook, but the 

next moment the lambkins and elves 

were at the bank, and the brook saw 

[39 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

that it was his little friends who were 
making all this clatter. 

"Stay awhile and hear my song," 
said the brook. 

"Shall we?" inquired the lambkins 
of each other. 

"Yes, let us stay and hear it," quoth 
the elves. 

So the lambkins tarried to hear the 
song of the brook, which was some- 
what as follows : 

A Brook Song 

I'm hastening from the distant hills 
With swift and noisy flowing, 

Nursed by a thousand tiny rills, 
I'm ever onward going. 

The willows cannot stay my course, 
With all their pliant wooing * 

[ 40 ] 



THE STARS- A Slumber Story 

I sing and sing till I am hoarse, 

My prattling way pursuing. 
I kiss the pebbles as I pass, 

And hear them say they love me ; 
I make obeisance to the grass 

That kindly bends above me. 
So onward through the meads and dells 

I hasten, never knowing 
The secret motive that impels, 

Or whither I am going. 

A little child comes often here 

To watch my quaint commotion, 
As I go tumbling, swift and clear, 

Down to the distant ocean ; 
And as he plays upon my brink, 

So thoughtless like and merry, 
And full of noisy song, I think 

The child is like me, very. 
Through all the years of youthful play, 

With ne'er a thought of sorrow, 
We, prattling, speed upon our way, 

[41 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



Unmindful of the morrow ; 
Aye, through these sunny meads and dells 

We gambol, never trowing 
The solemn motive that impels, 

Or whither we are going. 

And men come here to say to me : 

" Like you, with weird commotion, 
O little singing brooklet, we 

Are hastening to an ocean ; 
Down to a vast and misty deep, 

With fleeting tears and laughter, 
We go, nor rest until we sleep 

In that profound Hereafter. 
What tides may bear our souls along — 

What monsters rise appalling — 
What distant shores may hear our song 

And answer to our calling ? 
Ah, who can say ! through meads and dells 

We wander, never knowing 
The awful motive that impels, 

Or whither we are going ! " 

[42] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

" Fie, fie ! " cried the moon reproach- 
fully ; "what a sorry song to sing the 
little folks when they want to be merry." 

"Yes, indeed, ,, sighed Kinky; "it 
made me feel very sad." 

"And I," quoth Piccolo, "had al- 
ready begun to weep." 

"It is quite right that little folks 
should be blithesome and gay," con- 
tinued the moon, frowning upon the 
brook, " but this mournful melody has 
cast a cloud over us all." 

"Speaking of mournful things," said 
a toadstool which grew by the brook, 
"reminds me of the ballad of 'The 
Bingo Bird and the Doodledoo/ I am 
an indifferent vocalist, but if you would 
[43] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

like to hear this strange narrative, I 
will give it you gladly." 

The lambkins and elves said they 
would be glad to hear the song if it 
were not too melancholic, and forth- 
with the toadstool, having borrowed 
the cricket's tuning-fork, pitched his 
voice in the proper key and sang as 
follows : 

The Dismal Dole of the 
Doodledoo 

A bingo bird once nestled her nest 
On the lissom bough of an I O yew, 

Hard by a burrow that was possess'd 
Of a drear and dismal doodledoo. 

Eftsoons this doodledoo descried 
The blithe and beautiful bingo bird, 
[44 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



He vowed he'd woo her to be his bride 
With many a sleek and winsome word. 
"Oh, doo ! oh, doo !" sang the doodledoo 
To the bingo bird in the yarrish yew. 

Now a churlish chit was the bingo bird, 
Though her plumes were plumes of car- 
dinal hue, 
And she smithered a smirk whenever she 
heard 
The tedious yawp of the doodledoo; 
For she loved, alas ! a subtile snaix, 

Which had a sting at the end of his tail 
And lived in a tarn of sedge and brakes 
On the murky brink of a gruesome swail. 
"Oh, doo ! oh, doo !" moaned the doodledoo, 
As dimmer and danker each day he grew. 

Now, when this doodledoo beheld 
The snaix go wooing the bingo bird, 

With envious rancor his bosom swelled — 
His soul with bitter remorse was stirred. 
[ 45 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



And a flubdub said to the doodledoo, 
" The subtile snaix isn't toting square — 

I tell no tales — but if I were you, 
I'd stop his courting the bingo fair ! 

Aye, marry, come up, I'd fain imbrue, 

If I were only a doodledoo !" 

These burning words which the flubdub said 

Inflamed the reptile's tortured soul 
Till the bristles rose on his livid head, 

And his slimy tongue began for to roll ; 
His skin turned red and his fangs turned black 

And his eyes exuded a pool of tears, 
And the scales stood up on his bony back, 

And fire oozed out of his nose and ears ! 
Oh, he was a terrible sight to view — 
This fierce and vengeful doodledoo ! 

The very next morn, as the bingo bird 
Was nursing her baby bingoes three, 

She gave a start, for she plainly heard 
An ominous sound at the foot of the tree ! 
[ 46 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



Her keen eye lit on the gruesome brakes, 
From whence proceeded the hullaballoo — 

And, lo and behold ! 'twas the subtile snaix, 
Busy at work with the doodledoo. 

Boo-hoo ! boo-hoo ! how the feathers flew, 

When thesnaiximbruedwith the doodledoo ! 

They fought and scratched, and they bit and 
bled, 

Dispensing gore and their vitals, too, 
And never pausing till both were dead — 

The subtile snaix and the doodledoo ! 
And the bingo bird — she didn't mind, 

But giving her shoulders a careless shrug, 
She went the way of her female kind, 

And straightway wedded the straddlebug ! 
And there was nobody left to rue 
The doom of the snaix and the doodledoo — 
Unless, mayhap, 'twas the I O yew. 

"What silly verses !" exclaimed the 
Trotty star eyes. 

[ 47 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 



"They do very well for a toadstool," 
quoth the moon; "and they repeat a 
very common experience, too. But 
perhaps you are too young yet to 
understand the philosophy of even the 
toadstool muse." 

"I know a little love story/' said the 
violet; "please let me tell it to you." 

The Violet's Love Story- 
Here died a robin in the spring, 

And, when he fluttered down to me, 
I tried to bind his broken wing, 

And soothe his dying agony. 

I loved the wounded little bird — 

And, though my heart was full to break, 

I loved in silence — ne'er a word 

Of that dear, hopeless love I spake. 
[ 48 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

I saw his old companions bring 
Their funeral tributes to this dell ; 

But, when they went, I stayed to sing 
The love I had not dared to tell. 

So, while the little robin sleeps, 
The sorrowing violet bides above : 

And still she sings, as still she weeps, 
A requiem to her buried love. 

"Come, come!" cried the lamb 
Kinky ; " it is time for us to start 
back. Remember, the first of us home 
is to be rewarded with three white 
clover blossoms ! " 

Piccolo and the other elves secured 

a very tight hold on the fleece of their 

lambkins and said they were ready. 

Then the solemn old toadstool gave 

[ 49 ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

the word, and away the fleet-footed 
racers whisked. It was a more ex- 
citing run than before. Lickety-split, 
helter-skelter flew the lambkins, and 
the night winds had hard work keep- 
ing up. Kinky, with Piccolo and the 
elfin court on his back, was some dis- 
tance ahead of the others, and seemed 
sure of winning the race. 

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" cried the 
Dady eyes, and Kinky seemed to be 
encouraged by the words, for he gave 
a tremendous bound forward, and — 

Dady was wide awake ! 

" Why, I must have been dreaming ! " 
said Dady. 

It was broad daylight, and mamma 
[ 5o ] 



THE STARS: A Slumber Story 

came in to dress him. He told her 
all about his dream. 

" But it may not have been a dream," 
said Dady's mamma; "you know the 
old song says the stars are only good 
little children's eyes. Suppose you be 
a very good little child to-day, and see 
if the angel doesn't come again to-night 
and put your eyes away up in the sky 
for two bright, pretty stars." 



[so 



EUGENE FIELD: 

A SKETCH 



EUGENE FIELD 

A Sketch 



BORN, SEPTEMBER ft, 1850 
DIED, NOVEMBER 4, 1I95 



T^UGENE FIELD, journalist, hu- 
^~^ morist, and poet, was the second 
and oldest surviving son of Roswell 
Martin Field and Frances Reed Field, 
both natives of Windham County, Ver- 
mont. The elder Field was a distin- 
guished lawyer in St. Louis, and an 
accomplished scholar. He was per- 
haps best known as one of the counsel 
for Dred Scott in the famous slavery 
case. 

While he was yet a little child of six 
years, Eugene's mother died and he was 
[ 53 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

placed, with his younger brother, in the 
care of his aunt, Miss Mary French, of 
Amherst, Mass. He was fitted for col- 
lege by the Rev. James Tufts, and at 
seventeen years of age he entered Wil- 
liams College. Upon the death of his 
father in 1869, Prof. John W. Burgess, 
who was appointed the boy's guardian, 
placed him in Knox College, at Gales- 
burg, 111. He studied there two years, 
and afterward remained for some time 
at the University of Missouri. 

Francis Wilson, a life-long friend of 
Field, says of the father and mother of 
the poet : "He, very unfortunately, had 
but a fleeting, faint memory of his 
mother. She passed to the great be- 

[54] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

yond when he was but a child of a few 
years, but he drew a noble inspiration 
from his father, who was all in all to 
him through boyhood, youth, and young 
manhood. Strange as it may seem, he 
never wrote a line in prose or ballad 
dedicated to that father, but he loved 
and revered him none the less." 

Eugene Field's first attempt at author- 
ship was in an amateur way for news- 
papers in 1 871, when he was twenty- 
one and a sophomore at Knox College, 
Galesburg, 111. This early work was his 
preparation for the tasks of his later life. 

Dr. Henry Tyler assisted in Field's 
education at Knox College. " He made 
life a burden for me," Dr. Tyler once 

[55] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

remarked; "but never in a way that 
could be reproved. It was simply im- 
possible to inspire him with an idea 
of subservient respectfulness to others. 
Gaily carolling up the college walk, ten 
minutes late for his recitation, he would 
see me in my chair near the window 
and cry, 'Ah, good-morning, doctor! 
I'm a little late. Shall I jump in 
through the window?' and without 
waiting for permission he usually made 
his entrance that way, while the other 
pupils trembled in expectation of the 
reprimand which I had not the heart 
to give." 

While a student at the University of 
Missouri, Field met a young man named 
[ 56 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

Comstock. They became "chums" and 
decided to travel together for a year in 
Europe. Before the journey was begun, 
young Field accepted an invitation to 
make a few weeks' visit at the Com- 
stock home in St. Joseph. His friend 
had five sisters of such surpassing fair- 
ness that they were known and are 
remembered as "the pretty Comstock 
girls." 

The second of these young ladies, 
Julia Sutherland Comstock, was then 
only 1 6 years of age, but Eugene fell in 
love with her at once, and during his 
brief sojourn in St. Joseph he promptly 
proposed and was accepted. Before the 
two had reached the Atlantic coast 
[ 57 1 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

young Comstock missed his travelling 
companion. Investigation showed that 
Field had returned to St. Joseph to bid his 
sweetheart another and a longer farewell. 

His six months' tour of Europe was 
one long holiday. 

"I had a lovely time, ,, he said once, 
in telling his experience to a friend. " I 
just swatted the money around. Just 
think of it, a boy of 21, without father 
or mother, and with $60,000. It was 
a lovely experience. I saw more things 
and did more things than are dreamed 
of in your philosophy, Horatio. I had 
money. I paid it out for experience — 
it was plenty. Experience was lying 
around loose. ,, 

[ 58 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

Field stayed abroad until the $60,000 
was spent. Then he came home, mar- 
ried Miss Comstock, and began his 
career as a journalist, on the staff of 
the St. Louis journal. He achieved 
his first prominent triumph as news 
writer while a correspondent at Jeffer- 
son City during the session of the 
Legislature. These letters were charac- 
terized by a faithful account of legis- 
lative proceedings, graphic description, 
brilliant criticism, and incisive sarcasm. 
This field afforded him unbounded 
opportunities for the exercise of his 
peculiar genius. 

From St. Louis he went to St. Joseph, 
where for a period of eighteen months 
[ 59 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

he was Associate Editor of the Gazette. 
Then he returned to St. Louis as a 
writer of editorial paragraphs for the 
'Journal. This was ,the beginning of 
his work in the line which he used to 
call "my own." He wrote his first 
verse for the Journal. 

Then he went to the Kansas City 
Times as managing editor, and there he 
wrote the " Little Peach," which was 
set to music and sung all over the coun- 
try. In 1 88 1 he went to the Denver 
Tribune, where he remained until he 
joined the Chicago News staff in 1883. 
He went to The News under contract 
to write what he pleased, but he was to 
furnish a column a day of it. His col- 
[ 60 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

umn, "Sharps and Flats," was widely 
known, and was continued until within 
a few days of his death. 

His capacity for work was prodigious. 
A pen capable of making only the finest 
hair-strokes, when once set to travelling 
over a pad of paper, produced within 
two hours enough of his beautiful mi- 
croscopic writing to fill a long news- 
paper column of agate type. Usually 
the sheets went to the printers without 
a blot or erasure. Yet, Field's best pro- 
ductions were by no means hastily done, 
A poem or a story developed in his mind 
for days and sometimes for weeks or 
months before a word of it was written. 

His wit and sarcasm in that famous 
[ 61 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

editorial column of "Sharps and Flats" 
attracted world-wide attention. He had 
repeated offers from Eastern newspapers 
and magazines. One great New York 
daily offered him his own price to join 
its editorial staff. Always, at least twice 
a year, these tempting offers were made 
to him, but he steadily refused them. 
He was in his clement in the West, he 
used to say, and he meant to stay there. 
There was no element in the East, only 
an atmosphere. He was essentially a 
Western man. His sympathies were 
with the Western ways of life and his 
likings were for them. He was fearful 
of himself in the East. So whatever the 
attraction and inducements offered, he 
[ 62 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

invariably refused to give up his Western 
freedom. 

While Field's clever newspaper feuille- 
tons made him celebrated throughout 
the journalistic world, he was not known 
to the general reading public until the 
appearance of his two books, "A Little 
Book of Western Verse" and "A Little 
Book of Profitable Tales." 

Ill health compelled him to again 
visit Europe in 1889, and for more than 
a year he travelled on the Continent. 
While abroad he saw much of literary 
London, and received at its hands many 
kind attentions. There he renewed ac- 
quaintanceship with his talented class- 
mate of Williams College, Isaac Hen- 
[ 63 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

derson, the novelist. In London also 
he rummaged during many weeks for 
old books, old theatrical programmes, 
and curios of all sorts, finally departing 
heavily laden with spoil. Prominent 
among his foreign treasures was the 
well-worn axe of Mr. Gladstone, who 
presented it to him and received thanks 
in the shape of an epigram. 

While in England, he paid a visit to 
the grave of John Wesley, and tells this 
anecdote of his experiences there: "As 
you leave the spot you are swooped 
down upon by a hawk-nosed female 
who inveigles you into a sort of lodge 
and worries you until you pay her two 
shillings for a series of twenty-four 
[ 6 4 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

pictures purporting to illustrate the life 
of Wesley. 

'"You'll come down to-morrow and 
attend service, won't you?' asked this 
old griffin. 

"'Inasmuch as I live about five miles 
due west of here/ said I, 'it is likely 
that if I attend service at all I shall 
attend service where a cab fare of two 
and six is not involved.' 

"'But aren't you a Noncomformist 
divine ? ' she asked. 

"'Madam/ said I seriously, 'I have 
been mistaken at different times for Sol 
Smith Russell, Nat Goodwin, Harry 
Dixey, and Bill Nye, but never yet have 
I been told that I looked like a preacher. 
[ 65 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 



No, my good sister in Adam, I am not 
a clergyman — I am by predestination, 
preordination, prepossession, predilection, 
and profession, an ungodly newspaper 
man.' 

" ' Lor* me ! ' she exclaimed, and a 
shade of disappointment crept into her 
voice; 'thinkin' you was a divine I 
knocked off sixpence on them pictures ! ' ' 

Being a genius, Field possessed the 
inevitable touch of eccentricity which 
showed itself most prominently in his 
love for old and rare books. Many oi 
the volumes he purchased had no possi- 
ble bearing upon his work, and indeed, 
had small intrinsic value. " My library/' 
he used to say, "is full of fool books/ 1 
i OFC [ 66 J 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

and there was some truth in this. For 
example, he had hundreds of volumes 
containing the works of unknown and 
for the most part unworthy poets. 
Nothing pleased him more than to buy 
some little volume of execrable verse, 
produced by a local poet in Battle 
Creek, or any other insignificant place, 
and these he would range proudly with 
the others and sometimes turn over the 
pages "just to see how bad they were." 
He said that things had to be either very 
good or very bad in order to please him. 
He was essentially a bibliophrydasiac, 
or, in other words, an inspirer of biblio- 
mania. His most notable proselytes to 
the noble craze were Francis Wilson, 
[ 67 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

the comedian, and Harry B. Smith, the 
librettist. They never collected books 
until Field introduced them to the seduc- 
tive pleasures of book-hunting. 

Field was a most enthusiastic collector 
of everything that for any reason might 
be regarded as worth collecting. Once 
in New York, some of his friends found 
him in his room at a Broadway hotel 
surrounded by old pewter pots and 
plates, old warming-pans and porringers 
and everything else that looked as if it 
might be old. He tried hard to believe 
that these things came over in the May- 
flower, and no matter what the prices he 
paid he thought he had made a bargain. 
This inability to refuse to buy anything 
[ 68 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

said to be a curio gave rise to some 
ridiculous stories about him. 

He had a collection of envelopes used 
during the Civil War, and all the sheet 
music of the time that once stirred the 
heart of the nation. He also had a 
collection of bells, of dolls of all nations, 
and of mechanical toys. 

During the last two years of his event- 
ful life, Field became popular upon the 
lecture platform as a reader of his own 
works. The night of his death, Novem- 
ber 4, 1895, he had a engagement to 
read in Kansas City. He passed away 
at his home in Buena Park, a suburb of 
Chicago, in the quiet of the night after 
a slight illness of only a few hours' dura- 
[ 69 ] 



EUGENE FIELD: A Sketch 

tion. They found him in the morning, 
his hands clasped over his heart, a smile 
of peace upon his face. Thus went out 
the light, and the world lost a gentle, 
kindly man, poet, wit, philosopher, and 
friend of all humanity. 

Eugene Field sleeps the long, eternal 
sleep in Graceland Cemetery, near Chi- 
cago, and his myrtle-covered grave is a 
shrine for many pilgrims who seek to 
pay homage to the children's poet. 



[ 70 ] 






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